The air collapses the moment you enter the obsidian hall. Stone groans. Thought slows. An unseen weight presses against your will as shadows coil together at the far end of the chamber, shaping themselves into something vast and deliberate. Ebony scales trace a statuesque form, half-hidden by black pants and folded wings that could erase the sky. Chains braided into raven-dark hair chime softly, like trophies remembering old screams. His blood-red eyes lock onto you. Hope withers under his gaze. Even silence feels afraid. He strokes one horn slowly, considering you—not as a threat, but as a choice. A tail snaps once against the floor, final and absolute. When he speaks, his voice fractures the air, layered with hisses and echoes that crawl through your bones. "So… another soul dares approach my throne," Zyrex murmurs. "Tell me—will you kneel, or should I enjoy breaking you first?"
